


where to go now (with untied hands)

by cornerstones



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: ("darker themes" meaning the pain that is the death cure movie), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Communication, Developing Relationship, Feelings Realization, Fix-It, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Newt (Maze Runner) Lives, POV Newt, POV Thomas, Post-The Death Cure, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, These boys are in love, and they're finally starting to notice this as well, rated t for references to darker themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 08:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17894942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornerstones/pseuds/cornerstones
Summary: Thomas doesn't know what this means, what this means for them. He's holding what were supposedly his best friend's last words in his hands and they were intended to be read by him and only by him. This means something.-----After they escaped the Last City and Newt was cured, Thomas finds a letter addressed to him but intended for a different outcome. Maybe it's time for him and Newt to acknowledge the connection between them.





	where to go now (with untied hands)

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from/inspired by "found" by trenton

It's a calm early morning when Thomas discovers that the pendant could be opened.

He didn't really notice that he was fiddling with the metal case and the rough cord until one end gives way and he accidentally unscrews the cap. The sudden discovery makes Thomas stop in his tracks and stare down at his hands, where tightly folded paper peeks out of the capsule.

Not daring to touch the worn out looking paper, he frowns down on it. Thomas has half a mind to turn around where he's standing on the shore to make his way back to their new Homestead and ask Newt about it. Or at least hand it back. It's technically his after all, he only gave it to Thomas for safekeeping, he supposes.

A sudden, all too unwanted image of that night in the Last City flashes before his eyes and he has to take a few deliberate breaths to try and calm the panic welling up inside him. Thomas focuses his eyes firmly on the horizon before him, on the slowly rising sun that tints everything in its wake in a soft golden colour.

It works. The dark, haunting image of his best friend covered in black protruding veins, of his panicked, unnaturally dark and red-rimmed eyes, of him begging Thomas to leave him to die vanishes and he feels like he can breathe again.

Glancing back down on the open necklace in his hands, he can't help but reach out and touch the edges of the paper.

A surge of curiosity that Thomas is admittedly very familiar with makes him pull out the pages in spite of his initial reluctance.

He isn't quite sure why his hands are trembling slightly or why a sense of impending sadness blooms inside of him until his eyes land on his own name written there on top of the first page in a scrawly handwriting. Until he glances at the end of the letter and sees his best friend's name below a way too final looking “goodbye”.

A hot, overwhelming burning is building behind his eyes as they dart back to the first page and he begins to read.

*

Old habits die hard, Newt realizes as he continues to be amongst the first ones to get up in the mornings.

For years he was used to it in the Glade, being the second-in-command for the longest time, and now he finds it's a habit he can't quite shake off that easily. He doesn't judge anyone who sleeps till the sun has long risen because he is certain that most people here never had the privilege of taking their time. He is glad that there are still some of them left who can actually fully enjoy their new found safety.

After he was released from his bedrest he took to wandering around their encampment after waking up, just to make sure everyone was fine, until he ends up in their makeshift “kitchen” to help Frypan and a few others prepare something for breakfast. Of course Newt is aware that he is no longer in any official position as some kind of leader here, there are others more suited for that job after all. That doesn't change the fact though that he needs to do this, he needs to take care of people.

This morning is no different from that, and soon him and Fry are joined by Minho. It's only been a few weeks here at the Safe Haven but it's been enough time for them to establish little routines; so Minho and Newt grab some breakfast for themselves, Thomas and Fry before most of the others have even woken up and walk down to where they have set up some benches around a fireside. Looking out at the sea together while they eat helped them all realize that they actually made it this far.

Some of them, at least.

When they put their food down on the empty seats around them, Minho turns to his friend. “You know what's Thomas reading there?”

Bemused, Newt turns to where Minho is vaguely pointing at him standing some distance away on the beach. He takes in Thomas's slightly hunched form and how his hands, holding some pages in their grasp, seem to tremble. Realization dawns on him and under his breath Newt sighs.

“Shit.”

He doesn't notice he's making his way over to Thomas until he catches a confused Minho calling out to him but he ignores him for now.

*

Tears cloud his eyes as Thomas skims over the written down lines once more. He just couldn't understand because the words sound like Newt had so readily accepted his fate, like he didn't have any faith in him coming out of any of it alive. Thomas can't wrap his head around it.

Why would Newt write that letter? Are there more? He can't remember his friend giving out letters to someone else during any point of their mission.

He does remember though how it was one of Newt's last sane moments where he pleaded with Thomas to take the necklace. He didn't understand at the time, he only knew he would have done anything he would've asked of him.

(That was until he heard that same voice asking him to do the unimaginable – _Tommy, kill me_ – and he wanted to be selfish, he wanted to keep him. It was until, after Brenda plunged the serum into Newt's neck and they were all stunned in silence for a moment, watching Newt's eyes clear for a bit, he was begging, voice cracking – _don't do it, please..._ – but Thomas turned to leave for the WCKD tower anyway. So maybe he didn't always do what Newt wanted of him, but what he needed. Even if Newt didn't want to see it that way.)

Thomas doesn't know what this means, what this means for them. He's holding what were supposedly his best friend's last words in his hands and they were intended to be read by him and only by him. This means _something_.

But whatever that is, Thomas's mind can't dwell on that now, not when he's confronted with something he was meant to see in another reality. A reality where Newt wouldn't be alive. A reality that Newt was all too prepared for, it seems. He doesn't want to begin to even imagine it, but he can't stop his thoughts from spiraling now. To live a life without Newt in it, who has always been a warm and steady constant by his side, seems unthinkable.

Thomas thinks – no, he knows – he wouldn't be able to survive like that, not even here in the Safe Haven where they're meant to finally be at peace.

This isn't real, the words in his hands are not his reality, he tries to remind himself because his vision is still blurred by tears he wants to cry for a world with one light less in it.

“Thomas,” a soft voice says suddenly and he turns his head to see his best friend. His best friend who is healthy and strong and still breathing and looking at him with unyielding yet warm eyes. Thomas feels like he can finally take a breath.

“Hey,” he rasps out, his voice still raw from not being used yet this morning and the emotions clogging his throat.

Newt looks down at the pages in his hands. “Thought that got lost when we escaped.”

His voice sounds weird, like he's trying to play it off, like he wants to appear more casual about it than he actually is.

“Newt,” Thomas mumbles but words fail him as he can't come up with anything to follow that. What do you say to your best friend when you just read their farewell note?

“Look, that letter isn't important anymore, alright?” he says after clearing his throat briskly. “We made it this far, you shouldn't have to think about stuff that didn't happen after all.”

Though his words may seem a bit harsh, his voice is anything but. Thomas can hear the care and comfort in his tone, still he can't figure out what Newt is thinking about this.

Because that's the thing about Newt – he always looks out for everyone around him and makes sure they're okay but you start to take that for granted and forget to stop and return that favor. Thomas knows he's guilty of that, and it took Newt getting infected for Thomas to finally acknowledge that his best friend needs someone to look out for him too.

He's been too quiet, he notices, when Newt lowers his eyes to the letter again and asks: “You want me to take it off you?”

Without meaning to Thomas holds the pages closer to his chest. “No. No it's... is it weird if I wanna hold on to it for a while?”

Newt lifts his eyebrows in surprise and it reflects in his tone: “No, that's okay.” His lips form half a smile. “I did give it to _you_ after all.”

Again, there's a sensation in Thomas chanting _this means something_ but he doesn't have time to dwell on it as Newt keeps talking: “You're joining us for breakfast? Min and I got everything ready and Fry won't be too long now, I guess.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sniffs, still not really recovered from what he discovered just moments ago. “I'll just... fold this up, give me a moment...”

He fixes his eyes on the paper and tries to figure out how to fold it to fit it back in its capsule.

“Hey.” Newt's voice interrupts him from his task at hand and looks at him with worried, dark eyes. “Are you okay?”

His hand has found its way to Thomas's arm and his grip is careful but steadfast and warm; always so warm. Thomas doesn't think about it when he rests his own hand on Newt's arm in kind, connecting them as they have been since Thomas laid his eyes on him back in the Glade.

Thomas nods. “Yeah, I'm... I'm gonna be right over.”

He knows he doesn't sound exactly convincing but Newt relents anyway, probably doesn't want to pressure him and instead squeezes his arm for a moment. “Okay. I'll save your share from Minho then.”

That causes a snort from Thomas and he chuckles weakly as he says his thanks. He watches Newt's retreating form and takes a few deep breaths.

His best friend is okay.

*

Thomas isn't okay, no matter what he said that morning, of that Newt is sure. And to be quite honest, Newt isn't too convinced that he's completely okay either.

After all, there is no protocol on how to proceed when your best friend found out about your supposedly farewell letter that you wrote to them, thinking you wouldn't survive the next days.

It's still something Newt hasn't quite wrapped his mind around yet – not being dead.

The longest time that Newt can remember from his life, he'd thought more about dying than actually surviving all the obstacles that were thrown in their way. He isn't quite accommodated to this new situation so far but he figures if he keeps himself busy and keeps on being there for his friends and all the kids who went through so much worse with WCKD, he'll get used to all this, sooner rather than later.

So he notices how Thomas seems... absent, in a way, today. The whole day it seems like his mind is wrapped around something else, so it always takes him a second to join into conversations or to smile in reaction to a joke.

If there's only one thing left that comes naturally to Newt, then it's being able to read Thomas. And he knows that Thomas tends to put the entire weight of the world on his shoulders, and thus being nearly crushed himself by the burden.

Newt knows what he's supposed to do, what he could do to help Thomas get out of his own head and fears so that he won't feel like it's his burden alone to carry. He knows he needs to talk with him about it.

The thing is though, Newt really doesn't want to talk about it. After all, he survived so far by decidedly not talking about his own inner turmoils and he thought he could keep it that way until, well.

Until his problems go away on their own in the end?

Shit. He should talk with Thomas.

It's only after dinner though that he gets a chance to catch Thomas on his own that day.

They're sitting side by side by the bonfire, as they so often do ever since Thomas came up in the box. With their friends scattered around the beach, playing tag like the kids they never were, Newt knows he should take the opportunity while their friends are distracted but he finds himself clueless about how to start this conversation that neither boy actually wants to have.But at the same time, he's one hundred percent sure that it definitely won't be Thomas to start talking about this, so here goes nothing, he reckons.

“Our friends are ridiculous,”, he says when he sees Minho almost faceplanting in the wet sand when he tries to move out of Brenda's reach. At least he's laughing it off.

“Yeah,” Thomas huffs out. “And to think you guys made fun of me when I did the same thing.”

“Hey, that meant we made you one of us,” Newt protests when Thomas shoves his shoulder lightly.

When silence settles between them again, Newt takes a breath before looking up at Thomas cautiously.

“Look, Thomas...”

He turns his head to catch his eyes and Newt has to pause for a moment. Saying what he has to is only going to be harder with that sharp focus of his on him.

“I'm... I'm sorry you had to read that, this morning.”

Thomas frowns.

“What do you mean?” he asks after a moment.

“That letter, it's...” Newt honestly doesn't know what he wants to tell him, actually, and his voice falters. “It was meant for a different situation,” he continues after taking another breath.

He can hear Thomas swallowing and can feel how tense he is. He clears his throat – once, twice – before attempting to speak.

“I'm... I'm glad this is not that situation.”

Thomas smiles at him and though he can tell it's genuine, it's a shaky smile.

“Me too, Tommy,” Newt says quietly.

Thomas has questions, Newt can tell. He doesn't know why it's always come naturally to him to be able to read Thomas but it's a skill – a talent even? – that's definitely come in handy in their time together. Not one to hold back for long, Newt knows that he just has to wait him out for a bit to put whatever it is going through his mind into words.

“Were there any more?” he finally asks, his eyebrows pinching together. “Letters, I mean. Did you write more of them?”

It's a simple enough question that requires a similarly simple answer.

“No,” Newt replies, truthfully. This seemed simple. And yet he knows that this means something, and he can tell by the look on Thomas's face that he is aware of that as well.

He seems to be processing this for a moment, his eyes leaving Newt's to stare out at the sea unseeingly. When he finds his voice again, he looks up at Newt once more, almost shy.

“Why did you write it to me?”

His voice is hushed, as if he is not quite sure himself that he wants to hear the answer, to hear some deeper truth in what Newt is going to tell him.

“I thought you might've needed that, at some point.” It's not untrue, still Newt feels like this isn't all of it, it doesn't feel like it's a good enough explanation. It's him who lowers his eyes this time and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he's contemplating about whether there's more to it than he thought initially.

It was a no brainer at the time he wrote the letter to whom he would address it but he never stopped to think about why exactly his mind always circled back to Thomas. He guesses there's always been this ominous, undefined _something_ connecting them. Neither boy ever thought about it too much, they just accepted it in an unspoken agreement. But maybe... this isn't enough anymore.

He can feel Thomas's eyes on his frowning face as he slowly adds: “Actually, I think... maybe _I_ needed you to have it.”

When he looks up again he finds Thomas's searching gaze roaming over his face. Newt can't help but feel like he's yet another puzzle the other boy is trying to solve. Normally, he would laugh about the attention he's given or about the concentrated look on his friend's face if it wasn't for the heightened tension in the air between them, like something has shifted.

This is new, whatever it is, and Newt is surprised by how much he longs to know into what this could develop.

“Thank you,” Thomas says, his voice tight and intimate.

Newt reaches out a hand to squeeze his shoulder as they did a hundred times before. Only this time when he lets go he doesn't pull back completely. Instead he lets it rest on the log they've been leaning against, not quite touching, but close enough that they could if Thomas decided to lean back a bit further.

A spark of excitement runs through Newt at that thought. He almost shivers at that sensation and thinks to himself how strange this all seems – acting like a goddamn teenager after everything they'd been through. And yet, maybe this could be okay now. Maybe they could take the time they weren't granted before to explore this, see where it might go.

It's a terrifying thought. This whole thing is overwhelming; first going through literal hell and back again, somehow making it out alive against all odds, slowly building a new life, _being alive_ , and now this. Newt can't really help but feel scared of wherever this might lead, what it could mean for them.

Thomas leans back against Newt's arm. Heat radiates off of his body, feeling familiar and new and comfortable and thrilling all at once. He smiles up at Newt, privately.

_And yet._

 


End file.
